


Ease

by EvieSmallwood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bromance to Romance, Currently In First Year, Give it a try, M/M, super cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieSmallwood/pseuds/EvieSmallwood
Summary: Theodore Nott is a pureblood, the son of a death eater, and a shiny new Slytherin. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, is a Gryffindor, and commonly thought to be little more than a squib. What do they have in common? They are both scarred, both shy, and both utterly alone.





	

As soon as the hat had proclaimed him a Slytherin, Theodore Nott had given up hope that anyone would ever see him as anything more than another ruinous snake, which seemed to be a rather popular opinion here at Hogwarts, unfortunately, and Theo was sure that his father had not helped in developing said bias. It was tragic, to say the least, because Theo was nothing like they thought he was — like they thought being a Slytherin made you.

In fact, Theo was the antithesis of evil. He was a coward. Some might say that being evil took great courage to defy both morals and cause such agony, such destruction, and others might argue the opposite; that being cowardly in the face of what was right would, in fact, make you evil. Perhaps both were true. Perhaps it didn’t really matter. The only thing that Theo knew, in his heart, was that no courage belonged to him. How could it? His father dominated him, he had failed to save his sister, and his mother, and in the end had let himself crawl into the recesses of his own mind and hinder there, eternally, with a lack of direction and nothing to stand up for — because he himself was not worthy of his own advocacy. He was worthy of disrespect, of hatred and disgust. Of absolute and unadulterated abhorrence.

And the school staff, it’s students, and even the building itself seemed to agree with that mental proclamation given the amount of times he had gotten lost within it, even following the proper directions.

Draco had taken him under his wing these last three days, but it seemed that after he had discovered that his own image was more important than a flimsy alliance with the House of Nott, he had distanced himself. Of course, his advances had not been for a lack of trying; during each meal Draco (as Theo had been instructed — not asked, but ordered — to call him) would strike up seemingly pleasant conversations with a tone of aggravated hostility in his frustration that there was so little of Theo up for show. However, as time went on, the other boy gathered that Draco fancied the challenge.

But Theo was not one for socialising. In fact, he had never been exposed to such large parties of peoples in his life, which was why he was doubled over in an abandoned charms classroom having a panic attack.

It was not the first time this had happened — no, that had been after... the incident. But it had been a rather long time since he had undergone an attack of such magnitude. In fact Theo was finding it rather hard to stay on his feet.

He leaned against a desk and tried his best to gather his breath, but it was as fleeting as his thoughts. His grip was light on the scratched wood before him, which was dotted with black spots which obscured his vision.

“A-are you okay?”

At the sound of another voice, Theo tried to turn. He truly did. And then he fell, losing all balance, and landed hard in his knees.

The other boy gasped in shock. He rushed over and attempted to pull Theo to his feet, but the other boy resisted, and curled up on the cool floor with a hand clutching at his chest. He jerked at his tie — silver and green.

The other boy noticed. He himself was clad in red and gold. An enemy, Draco had said. But Draco was a small-minded arsehole.

“’m fine,” Theo whispered, once he had regulated his breathing. “I’m fine...”

“Oh,” whispered the Gryff. “What - what happened? If you don’t mind my asking?”

Theo looked up at him, lying on his back, and smiled. “Panic attack.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “So that’s what you call it.”

At that — a whisper as it had been — Theo sat up fervently and stared at him. “You have them?”

“I-I do. All the time. My Gran...” He paled. “Never mind.”

“No, it’s fine; you can tell me.”

The Gryff looked down at Theo’s tie with a raised eyebrow. “Can I?”

Theo blushed. “Not all Slytherins are Draco Malfoy. Just like not all Gryffindors are Sirius Black, right?”

The Gryff flushed with shame and looked down at his shoes. Then, slowly, he lowered himself to the ground to sit beside Theo. “My Gran puts a lot of pressure on me. Because my father...” his voice broke. Eyes went distant and hands pressed themselves into the fabric of his trousers. “He was tortured into insanity.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “You’re Neville Longbottom, aren’t you?”

The boy’s lips curled into a frown. “Yes. And you’re Theo Nott.”

“I’m sorry. About your parents...” he meant it, of course; Theo’s father (though it was not common knowledge) had been one of the Death Eater’s who had orchestrated the attack on Longbottom Manor. In his rage, he had ordered Bellatrix LeStrange to gather her “hoodlum friends” and raid the place. Theo knew all about it. The story had been a common one in the Nott household. Theo had once been subjected to a memory of the night; it had been a ninth birthday present from his father. ‘I went all the way to Azkaban to obtain this for you, Theodore, so watch attentively.’

“It’s alright,” said Neville, now. “They’re... alive, still. My mum gives me presents sometimes.”

Theo bit his lip, hard. “That’s something.”

“I guess.” Neville cleared his throat. “So... do you want to talk about it? Why you were panicking, I mean? You don’t have to—”

“No, that’s fine. It’s just people.”

Concern befell his companion’s face. “Were people teasing you? They tease me, as well. Malfoy especially.”

Theo nodded. “I’ll work in that,” promised he. “But it’s not what they say... or even their looks... it’s just that there are so many. All over the place. All talking and breathing and wild like insects on walls. They’re a damned storm, Longbottom—”

“Neville,” said Neville.

“Right, well, anyway. There are a lot of them. And I don’t like it.”

“Would you rather have been homeschooled?”

Theo’s eyes widened at the possibility. Learn magic from his father?! “No.”

Neville did not understand, of course, what a terrible suggestion he had just made, nor did he know that Theo’s mind was now racing with what could have been his educational reality; beatings when he could inevitably not perform his magic in front of his father, or death threats. Eventually Theo was sure his father would have snapped his wand and proclaimed him a squib.

Enough of that. You’re here now. “Are you enjoying your time at Hogwarts, Neville?”

“I suppose.” Neville picked a bit of lint off of his sweater. “I would have preferred to go abroad, I think.”

He flushed, having said something he thought he shouldn’t have. Theo knew the expression. Instead of shaming him, he decided to gauge the conversation, intrigued. “Beauxbatons?”

“Illvermorny,” Neville replied, offering a timid half-smile.

Theo grinned. “I have an outcast uncle who went there. Said it was brilliant. Honestly, Hogwarts is so isolated from the rest of the magical world. It’s like the underdeveloped little brother who gets the inheritance anyway and proclaims himself better than the rightful heir.”

Neville grinned, cocking a brow. “Bitter much?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “I have a lot of suppressed feelings to express, Longbottom.”

“Neville.”

“Right.”

Theo swallowed. “Is Harry Potter as much of a prat as they say he is?”

“Who says he’s a prat?” They leaned against the wall, just coming up to the edge of a windowsill. The morning light glared against a mirror on the opposite surface, making Neville’s hair look like straw. There was a small scar on his neck, Theo noticed.

“Draco.”

“Well, there you go. Really I don’t think he’s bad at all.”

“Well, you have to say that; you’re his house-mate.”

Neville contemplated that. “Loyalty is a Hufflepuff trait.”

“On the contrary, Neville; loyalty belongs to those who wish to wield it. Slytherins are more loyal than you would expect. And anyway, I was referring to house unity, rather than loyalty, as I expect it takes more than three days to bond with someone, for a sensible person such as yourself.”

Theo’s patronisation went right over Neville’s head. “Harry is...”

“Small?”

The word rolled off of Theo’s tongue before he could stop it. But there it was, in the chasm between them, up for grabs. Neville took the chance. “Skittish.”

“He looks at his feet a lot.”

“And he’s got more than one scar.”

They exchanged glances. “You should do something,” Theo suggested.

Neville appeared suddenly nervous. “I can’t!”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m just... me. Why would he listen to me?”

“Well, Neville Longbottom of House Longbottom, I don’t know.” Theo studied his nails. “I know that ancient houses don’t have as much pull in Gryffindor, mainly because so many members of such are sorted into Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but people will listen to you, Neville. Especially if you exude confidence.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re eleven, Neville. You can do anything.” 


End file.
